


tragedy tragedy, love is a distant memory

by kovisk



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, i may ? finish this, im just trying to redeem myself honestly, im really sorry yall, tHIS IS SO SHORT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 03:36:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12123681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kovisk/pseuds/kovisk
Summary: apollo once loved a youth like him, but his youth was slain traitorously. chares only hoped he was not to be slain





	tragedy tragedy, love is a distant memory

the fields were flourishing in the summer, their cat tails tangled and their cotton dust drifted lazily through the air like the cherry blossom petals had. the high grass reached his waist, and the cat tails his shoulders. the trees had long branches, that curled like smoke into the azure skies, thick enough to hang from. the dark bark smooth under his soft palms, their green leaves bright and their fruit rich. the sun warmed the fields and the sands, making them grainy soft and sun kissed, just hot enough to lay against, but any longer and his fair complexion would burn, he learned this hardship on the first day. lazing in the sun as his  _erastês_  stretched his body, cat like in the sun, muscles shifting under bronzed skin. his lean form well endowed with military experience. he held a blade, oiled in olive and vinegar, shifted it from palm to palm, feeling the weight in his hands. he took his turns on slashing the body; a grass weaved torso that was easily being shredded. wrapped with rope around a tree that grew defiantly out of the sand. surrounded by branch huts, the roofing made of weaved grass and large palms, delicately placed with a wring of flowers around the roof.

the door was covered by animal skins, deer, bleached out by the sun, and waved softly in the sea breeze. the salt rested on his tongue as he rolled onto his stomach, his  _erastês_ worked easily, his blade spun and gleamed in the sun before it feel into his other palm, he balanced his feet to accommodate the new position. his back gleamed in perspiration, and he desperately wanted to follow the path with his tongue. the sun burned hot against his skin, becoming uncomfortable he strode to the tree, standing away from the blade and his erastês. careful not to disrupt his movements, so effortless and confident. he watched in awe, as eskandar halted his movement, chest heaving slightly, he ran a hand through his hair, pieces sticking to his forehead. he turned as chares sat down, feet away in the shade, eyes trained on eskander who smiled fondly down at him. "you will learn to do the same soon,  _tener_ ", the word was spoke delicately, warmly without menace or venom. eskandar was never with venom liked intentions, even when he was courting he was delicate with chares. fond smiles and soft touches on his shoulder, his cheek, palms warm and rough by battle. his gifts were simple, but held the most love out of all the jewelry he was given and all the precious olive oil and wines. eskandar sat down in the shade next to him, stretched until his bones clicked, and gave a sigh. he placed the knife in chares palm, much too heavy for himself but it was a strong gesture, to give your most prized item to a near stranger. but it's not like they'll be strangers for much longer.  
  
"but don't fall  _too_ in love, char, he'll only leave you, and you'll be left all alone then," alexander teased, mischief rather seriousness dancing in his eyes and sharp grin.

hesperos only rolled his eyes, "he's only teasing, chares. you needn't worry about your  _erastês_ leaving you. you are bound to him just as he is to you." hesperos placed a reassuring hand on chares shoulder, a solid weight anchoring him down in the courtyard.

chares feared he's collapse under the weight of alexanders words; while not completely true, they held truth. now an  _erastês_ and his  _erômenos_  did not usually part when the  _erômenos_  grew to age of maturity, but the erastês was expected to also marry and produce healthy offspring to flourish, but he was still allowed to have his erômenos by his side if he desired. if not their erômenos would start his own process and court his own  _erômenos_  once he became an erastês. chares nodded to hesperos, smile tight before the classes begun. throughout the day though chares felt sick, the sun making him feverish, ill under the sun. anxiety snaked its way around his steady heart and pulled taught, as if to choke the life out of him through the process of dread. his mother tutted softly at his paleness, he was fair, but now he looked ghostly, like the bleached bones of spear heads and necklaces sold in the markets. he was to be in bed rest for the day, to sleep off his "excitement" his mother called it, that's what it was she had said, that he was only getting excited as his courtship days neared. many men had heard of his coming of age, and desired to mentor him, whisk him into their arms and teach him, and love him. it was natural for boys to become nervous, the whole ordeal was extravagant, the gifts offered, the feast before, and the many years he'd spend with his erastês. so many men, so many to chose from. he'd not known of their names or faces yet, but shortly he will, come sunday he shall meet them and flirt and find who he would desire. 

  
"you better chose wisely, some are only for sex, and then you have to live with them for years!" alexander had warned, as they sat under the fig trees in the school courtyard.

hesperos only sighed witheredly and patted chares knee, "you have many men who no longer participate in just coitus, they offer their hands at mentoring. they're here  _for_  you, not to  _use_ you." hesperos reassured, before smacking alexander across the shoulder which ended them up in the dirt rolling and laughing, their pages of work all over the ground, while chares smiled at the two despite his heart aching. 

  
his mother went out with him the day before he was to meet the men, buying herbs and essences, new tunics, new shoes. she bought a set of bone needle combs, and two small bird ribbed necklaces, that fit snugly around his throat. "chokers," raisa had said as she walked with them, his mother bargained her way to get a set of rings with diamonds; his birth stone. his arms were already full with deer skin packs, tied with rope around the necks. raisa picked through a set of daggers, before turning back to him, shrugging, "the men will buy you many gifts, we shouldn't waste all your inheritance now." chares couldn't agree more.   
  
the house was lit with candles and incense, smoky and warm, something vanilla stuck to the roof of his mouth and something sharp sweet like fresh fruit lingered. wine, he supposed, as he rummaged through his bags. his mother drew a bath, their home was laid in white on the cliffs edge, the white stone stairs led down to the beaches and to the ocean, but perched under their fig trees was a dug out bathing hole, drained and filled again just for him. cherry and rose petals floated on the clear water, smelling of vanilla and flowers, sweet pea perhaps, his birth flower. his mother believed richly in tradition, birth stones for good luck, and birth flowers for good love. the sun was setting, painting the skies in pink and red brush strokes. chares stripped himself of his tunic, and stepped into the warm water, the smell making his ill mind ease, the snake around his heart finally appeased. he laid in the water long, before grabbing the new soaps and delving into washing his skin, and tee tree oil for his hair, making his curls shine in the sun tomorrow, gleam in their bronzy halo. he only hoped the men desired him with his fair complexion and blue eyes.

many here were olive and sun kissed, with dark almond eyes, mocha or coffee. his new tunic tomorrow was hung up and his shoes polished, as well as his rings and necklaces, his mother worked on the steps, weaving a laurel wreath for his head tomorrow, occasionally sipping from her glass of wine, she worked the leaves polished with olive oil and herb oil to give the glow and smell of youth. apollo once loved a youth like him, but his youth was slain traitorously. chares only hoped he was not to be slain, he would learn to fight under the teaching of his erastês, but he was never forced to follow them in battle if that is to happen. the legends and scripts of achilles and his patroclus, linger in the books and in the pendants men and women wear. he could follow his erastês into battle if he wished. to stay with his lover until death do them part, and even then he could follow further, until they touch hands again in the afterlife, immortal and forever in love. chares sipped his own wine, urging his fears to fall into love instead. the night is spent with him packing his essentials, while he is not to leave until three days after tomorrow, it's always better to start prepared if his erastês wishes to leave early, eager to have him in his arms. he sleeps on the furs and silks with his window opened, letting the night air slip over his skin like a lovers caress, he wonders what it would be like, under another man, he's heard stories, and the way a mans hand is much better than a womens, that a man knows more of his own anatomy than he does himself. even though they are taught in school what parts are sensitive. chares sighs, longingly into the dark, imagines a man, tall, dark hair, eyes of his own perhaps, hands grazing his skin, his thighs, his ribs, gently pulling his tunic loose, before slipping it off his narrow frame. caressing his skin with burning touches, until he's fevered. 

**Author's Note:**

> greek version of erik and charles, unfinshed but enjoy bc i did like a weeks worth of history on greek customs for this so yall better appreictae how much of a slut tm i am for greek, im also trying to redeem myself with my shitty old writing so im filling in the empty spaces with the good kush tm


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